When I thought about what I wanted to write about today, I winced, because I knew I was going to be opening myself up to legitimate accusations of hypocrisy. I have not lived what I’m about to promote well during this time, and probably in any time before. However, if there is some truth here (and I think there is), then it is real whether I follow it or not.
I don’t know about you, but I have been infected with a virus that has affected me almost every minute of the day. This virus is debilitating to me mentally and physically, and it has not been thwarted by prophylactic measures, nor is it treatable by any conventional medicine, nor once it has passed do I have any immunity from future infections. Indeed, I have been repeatedly infected throughout this quarantine. The virus from which I suffer, and which I am guilty of passing on to others is anger and hatred of other people.
This infection has not originated during this time. In fact, it most likely has lain dormant in my system throughout my adult life (similar to my shingles, which ironically is triggered by this), and has been periodically triggered by something I hear or read. Of course my immunity has been worn down since the election of 2016, and the constant outbreaks have reduced by resistance to tissue paper strength. However, the daily barrage of opinions and actions during the advent, outbreak, and progress of the virus, have left me in a constant state of outrage.
Though I hope that I will always resist and oppose foolish, ignorant, of xenophobic opinions, I have found that I barely think about the opinions any more. Rather, I am focused on the people who express them, and I am spending my time and energy on anger and hatred toward them personally. I find myself fantasizing about shouting them down, about a satisfying sense of Schadenfreude when they or their loved ones succumb to the disease, or even about committing physical violence (not that I really would or that I am physically able. I suspect were I to challenge one of the protestors to a fight, I would be taking up a hospital bed that should be reserved for COVID patients).
This righteous rage feels satisfying and justified. I breathe it in without a mask. I feed it to others on multiple digital platforms. I have done my part to restore sanity to a crazy world. Though I haven’t done anything. Even if they were aware of my brilliant attacks on their positions, protestors would not change their position, politicians would still follow the path of expediency, and the President will continue to be what he is. The only person who is negatively affected by my rage is me, and I won’t fix the world by letting my blood pressure go through the roof.
Beyond the physical damage I do to myself, the are self-inflicted moral wounds which I will bear far beyond this time. My gosh, I am wishing for people to die a horrific, strangling death just to prove myself right. How does that fit with my regular quoting of William Styron, “Let your love flow out on all living things”? If I allow myself to pick those people who are worthy of my consideration as human, I become as inhuman as anyone I judge.
So how to approach this? While I was riding this morning and seething at something, I think my superego became exasperated with this heart of darkness, and word came to mind, compassion. Compassion is an important concept in Eastern spirituality. It also plays a role in western Catholic Christianity, though I believe it is primarily ignored (probably and uncompassionate thing to say). Compassion recognizes the dignity of each human person separate from, well, frankly, their bullshit. We all are suffering, some more than others, and some in ways that we cannot see or understand. Is a man protesting social distancing a monster for wanting to work any more than I am a monster for my fantasies of the deaths of his relatives? Compassion calls me to still respect him while disagreeing with his views, for anger and hatred kill their hosts while not impacting any external situation.
Let me be clear, I am not arguing for the equality of all ideas, what I am saying is that through compassion we separate ideas from persons and know that everyone needs our concern right now, no matter what their path has led them to say or do. I’m also not saying that Buddha-like I have reached a higher level of consciousness and will no longer do any of the things I’ve realized are so destructive. Rather, I think I am Moses-like, seeing the promised land, though knowing he will never fully reach it. Or (to simplify it in a way that should invalidate everything I’ve just said) as Peter Capaldi playing the Doctor said in his final scene, “Remember that hatred is always foolish, and love is always wise.”
Be safe, be strong.